


Don't Make Me Out to be a Saint (I'll Just Disappoint You)

by crieshavoc



Series: St. Delphine [1]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, POV First Person, Science Girlfriends, cophine - Freeform, delphine pov, st. delphine verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 14:39:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3212801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crieshavoc/pseuds/crieshavoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A canon-divergent AU wherein Cosima hesitates, Delphine is oblivious, and down the rabbit hole they go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Make Me Out to be a Saint (I'll Just Disappoint You)

**Author's Note:**

> I've done some character/ship analyses over on tumblr, and wondered (while discussing Science Girlfriends/Cophine) how things may have played out if Cosima had some restraint - which prompted this Anon comment:
> 
> "Dude that "What if Cos had never made a move that night" AU idea sounds absolutely amazing. Cause according to EBro, she played Delphine as if it were love at first sight. So watching Delphine and Cosima get closer and stay friends while it's obvious that Cos likes Delphine, and Delphine has no idea she likes her back would just be so fucking interesting to watch."

                “…admit what this is really about?” Cosima tilts her head and walks closer to me, and then she stops, narrowing her eyes.

                I look back, my own eyes wide, disbelief making my spine rigid. _Does she know?_

                Cosima opens her mouth, closes it again, and her eyes roam the space between us. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” She asks me, sounding incredulous and a bit… defeated? Disappointed? I can’t really tell. She’s difficult to read.

                I shake my head, immediately, my hair bouncing and swaying. “ _Non_ , I – I don’t,” I stutter, wholly unconvincing, but she takes me at my word. She shouldn’t, but she does.

                Cosima laughs, but it’s different, awkward. She won’t look at me as she starts babbling about Leekie and Neolutionism again. “…I don’t know about that guy, Delphine.” She still isn’t looking at me.

                I don’t like it. It feels wrong, the tension in the air. I’ve missed something, but I have _no idea_ what. “Cosima?” I reach out, put my hand on her arm, and her skin is soft and warm. I like that about my new friend, my _subject_ , how warm she is – physically and metaphorically. “Are you okay? What were you going to say?”

                She takes my hand in hers, gingerly, and moves it off her skin. “Nothing,” she glances up at me, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, “don’t worry about it. Let’s just talk about science and drink our wine. Get to know each other. Okay?”

                Now I am the one hesitating. _Was she going to disclose? Is she self-aware? Does she realize why I’m here?_ “Okay,” I tell her, smiling and squeezing her fingers in mine.

                We talk for _hours_ that night, sitting on Cosima’s bed. We talk about science, about Aldous’ lecture, about school and our future plans. I tell as much of the truth as I can. I say I want to work for an international medical institute, which is true enough. I say that I want to see the world and _help_ people, which is entirely true. Cosima tells me she wants to do research back in California, close to her parents. She tells me she wants to backpack across Europe.

                “You _must_ come to France, to Paris, and I’ll show you around,” I say, smiling freely. My face feels hot. _Must be the wine._

                “Oh, totally,” Cosima nods, waving her hands, a joint clutched between two fingers, “you can show me the non-touristy stuff. For sure.” She grins at me and takes a hit, closing her eyes blissfully.

                She is beautiful. Aldous showed me a few pictures, when he went over her file with me. I knew _what_ she looked like, but seeing Cosima in person is _different_. She radiates energy and excitement. She has this _presence_ that fills a room. I have to look away, for a moment, because this is so much harder than I expected. I’ve never had any issue shutting myself off from people before, but Cosima’s smile draws out my own; her eyes draw me in. I don’t understand it.

                “So, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” Cosima asks me, out of the blue.

                I look back at her, quickly, “What?” The wine has me feeling uncomfortably warm. I take my sweater off and toss it in the direction of Cosima’s desk.

                She averts her eyes, like seeing me in a tank top is scandalous somehow. I don’t understand why. “Come on, Delphine, you’ve never played Twenty Questions?” Cosima leans forward, her own sweater slipping off one shoulder.

                Her skin is very soft. I’ve noticed it when she hugs me, or when she puts her hand on my arm, or when I kiss her goodbye. Her cheeks are soft. I notice every time, and I chalk it up to cataloguing details for Adlous.

                “I slept with my boss,” I tell her. I don’t know _why_ I tell her, but there it is. I wince, looking down, feeling embarrassed and little ashamed, oddly. I’ve never felt bad about it, before. I’ve done the expedient thing for my career. That’s all. It _is_ , but saying it out loud to her makes it feel _immoral_ , for the first time in a very long time.

                “Wow,” she leans back and adjusts her glasses. She’s stalling, swallowing her knee-jerk reaction to my abrupt confession.

                I sigh, running my hand through my hair, forcing myself to meet her eyes. “Did you think I was an angel, Cosima?”

                “Kind of,” she admits, her shoulders creeping up by her ears, “I mean, you look like one,” she adds, gesturing to my hair.

                I lower my hand, shaking my head, laughing without feeling any _humor_ , “Don’t make me out to be a saint in your head. I am not. If you think that about me, I’ll just disappoint you.”

                Cosima studies me, her eyes roving over me, and I can _feel_ it. It’s the strangest thing and my stomach flutters uneasily. I do not want her to think poorly of me, but she inspires _honestly_ in me. I can’t resist it. It makes no sense, for me to open up to her, but I _do_ need to gain her trust. I guess this is one way to do it.

                “I spray painted ‘SMASH THE PATRIARCHY’ on the outer wall of my dorm at Berkeley,” she tells me with a crooked grin. It reaches her eyes, but flickers there.

                I laugh, because _of course she did something like that_. That’s Cosima for you. “Yours is better.”

                “Yeah.”

                She agrees, because it’s true. I am worse than her. I am _less_ than her, I think.

                “Why’d you sleep with your boss?” She asks the question delicately, one hand gently tracing nonsense on the back of mine where it rests on her blankets. Cosima looks up at me, looking like she _can’t believe_ I’d do something so unethical.

                She has _no idea_.

                I shrug, unable to look her in the eye, even if I’m not lying when I say, “He wanted to. I could tell. I can _always_ tell, with men.” I roll my eyes. “It was worthwhile. I got something out of it, too. Not _him_ , but that was never the point.” I try to smile at her, try to understand why I’m talking about my affair with Aldous in the past tense. _I want to end it_ , I realize, and suddenly the desire is as clear as a cloudless blue sky. _When did I start to care?_

                Cosima tilts her head, fingers still tracing electric patterns on my skin. She studies me for a minute, a full minute, before she speaks again.

                _How is she not hot in that sweater?_

                “What did you get out of it?” She asks me, and she looks like she _cares_ what my answer is. It’s strange, to be so close so quickly, but I like it.

                _You_ , I think, but I don’t tell her that. No, I just shake my head and smile. “That’s a secret for another day, _mon amie_.”

 

-

 

                The weeks pass in a blur. I know I don’t _really_ need to keep up with my classes, that going to lectures and spending _hours_ in the lab is just part of my cover identity, but it’s so easy to fall back into being a student. It’s like I get a ‘do over’ of the past few years of my life. It’s _wonderful_. It’s wonderful because of Cosima. She’s amazing, really, and it’s not at all because she’s a clone. She’s just an amazing _person_. I forget myself, sometimes. I forget that I am her _monitor_ and I am supposed to be finding information for Aldous. I forget to _observe_ , and yet I find myself watching her….

                Cosima and I are becoming the best of friends. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had. We drink wine and watch stupid American TV shows, we drink coffee and talk about the universe, we drink espresso and stay up all night working. We stay up too late drinking wine and Cosima smokes her weed and I lean out her bedroom window, chain smoking. I am rarely at my own apartment, these days. We fall asleep on her bed, still in our clothes of course, with papers and medical journals and half-eaten snacks scattered around us. We fall asleep together, drunk and stoned and lightheaded – _lighthearted_ – and my stomach hurts from laughing. My face hurts from _smiling_. It’s incredible. _She_ is incredible and, I admit, I’m a little bit infatuated with her charm and her mannerisms, and with how she speaks with such _awe_ about every little thing.

                I wake up one morning with Cosima snuggled against my side. She’s wheezing slightly as I turn my head towards her. I rest my cheek against her hair, breathing in all the increasingly familiar smells of this brave new world I’ve entered into. When Aldous offered me a position working with _human clones_ , I was so excited. It’s an unbelievable opportunity for a scientist, a doctor. Objectivity is _such_ a slippery thing, though. Cosima isn’t just a _subject_ or an _experiment_. She’s is _so much more than that_.

                _I would be your friend anyway_ , I think, watching her sleep for just a moment (because any longer would be creepy), but I have to remind myself that we wouldn’t _know_ each other. Not in a million other realities. _I would still be France, and Cosima would be here with someone else_. I don’t like the thought of it. I don’t like it at all. Cosima is _my_ friend, now, and I am determined to make the best of this… odd situation.

                Cosima shifts in her sleep, making those half-conscious sounds everyone does, and she stretches her arm across my stomach, cuddling closer. It feels nice, having her so close. I like it. I move my own arm so it curls around her body, so I can run my hand along her back as she leans her weight into me. She is beautiful in the early morning light. It is strange to see her without her glasses, but I think I would still know her from the others.

                I sigh, leaning my head back and staring at the ceiling. I am supposed to be _digging deeper, faster_ because Cosima and the other subjects may be in danger. I told Aldous that building a friendship takes time – and obviously Cosima must disclose without my prompting. He is impatient, as always, but I am doing the best I can. I am not sleeping with him, anymore. He was surprised, and I think even a little angry, but he did not object. I thought I would miss the routine of it, but I feel _free_ instead. I did not expect to miss _him_ , and I don’t. I am too busy for it. I am busy pretending to a student, and forgetting to be a monitor, and being a friend.

 

-

 

                Cosima likes me. It’s obvious. The way she acts around me is, well, it’s not _different_ than how she acts around other people, but it _is_ , at the same time. I do not think she realizes I’ve noticed. She gets flustered sometimes, especially when I stand or sit close to her, which is often. We’ll be in the middle of a conversation, a passionate debate, and suddenly she’ll look away. We’ll be in the middle of laughing, or drinking, or smoking, or cuddling in her bed watching movies on her laptop when we should be doing work, and all of a sudden she’ll find any excuse to move away from me. She collects herself, visibly. I can see it in her body language.

                I can’t believe how it easy it is becoming to read her movements, her facial expressions, her tone of voice. I think I am coming to know her better than I know myself. She _likes me_ , and I am flattered. I am extremely flattered, because Cosima is _beautiful_ and smart and witty, she is a _dork,_ but she is alsoeverything a person would want. An intelligent person, anyway. I find myself blushing around her, picking up her habit of talking not just with words. My hands begin to fly and I ramble – not as impressively or as adorably as her, of course, but still. There are times when she looks at me and it’s like her eyes set fire to my skin. Her attention is a drug and I am becoming addicted to it, which is just _so_ unfair to her. I can hardly stand it, but I don’t exactly want to ask her to stop.

                I make the mistake of telling Aldous. He is _very_ unhappy with my lack of progress. I spend as much time with Cosima as our schedules allow. I sleep at her apartment more than my own, much more. Falling asleep over school work, or Netflix, or our third bottle of wine becomes as natural as breathing. Waking up with Cosima curled against me becomes the norm. I feel _bad_ , because there are moments when it shows how much she wants me. _Mon dieu_ ,I flush just thinking about it. I can’t understand why she finds me so appealing. I know I am attractive, and smart, but I am _spying on her_. I think she knows that, too, and yet she cares for me. It’s ridiculous.

                Aldous wants me to seduce her. _Seduce Cosima_. Cosima, my friend, my best friend, my _buddy_. I can’t. I _won’t_. I could _never_ do that to her. It would be cruel. So cruel. I won’t do it. I didn’t tell Aldous that. I didn’t say anything when he suggested it. Ordered it, more like, but he can go jump in a lake. I won’t do _anything_ to hurt Cosima. Not if I can help it. There _must_ be another way. I just have to find it.

                There are other moments, when I think she _knows_. We haven’t talked about Neolutionism or the DYAD in weeks, but sometimes she looks at me so seriously and her face is entirely closed off, and I can read _nothing_ in her eyes. I think she knows. Maybe I am being paranoid, but I can’t shake the feeling. I want to tell her. I want to tell her _so badly_. Aldous keeps saying she’s in danger, but he won’t give me specifics. I am torn, because I do still want to do my job. Especially since I’ve stopped thinking in terms of _clones_ and started thinking in terms of _Cosima_. I want to keep her safe, I want to help her, but I can’t bring myself to start the conversation. I’m not sure if I am more afraid of harming the _integrity_ of the experiment, or of her rejection. Her anger. I know Cosima well enough by now to know she has a temper. I also don’t want to _hurt_ her. _That_ is most important. I just hope that, when it _does_ all come out, I can make her understand.

 

-

 

                I let my students out early one afternoon, when the professor is out sick and half the class is absent. I don’t _really_ have the authority, as a TA, to do so, but I want to surprise Cosima. We know each other’s schedules inside and out, so I know she’s been holed up in her room all day working on her dissertation. I want to drop by early with truffles and wine. I hum under my breath, hearing a tune in my head that is more synthetic beats than anything else, which is entirely Cosima’s influence, but anything connected to her makes me smile these days. I pause outside her door, shuffling the plastic bags and my messenger bag and my purse, and I hear her shouting at someone.

                _“I know, okay? I get that it’s risky, but we have to do something! Having a monitor on our side could be a big advantage!”_ She sounds exasperated.

                _“Are you absolutely sure we can trust her though? I know you’re crazy about her, Cos, but –”_ A different voice, British, I think.

                _“Would you please stop harping on that?”_ That’s Cosima.

                _“Yeah, Sarah, just because our resident geek monkey wants in Frenchie’s pants doesn’t mean she stops being smart and logical and all that.”_ That is a man’s voice, also British.

                I blush scarlet when his words sink in and realize the other woman I heard _must_ be one of the other subjects. _Merde_ , I think, biting my lip.

                _“Thank you, Felix, I appreciate that.”_ Cosima again, sarcastic, but she sounds like she’s laughing.

                My chest feels tight and my heart _hurts_ as I reach for the doorknob. It’s unlocked, as it typically is now. _Merde. Here goes everything, then._ I open the door as quietly as I can, stepping into the room. I push it closed with my foot, leaning back against it as Cosima’s head snaps up from her laptop. She’s alone.

                “Oh no,” she stares at me, mouth slightly open, eyebrows near her hairline.

                _“What? What’s up, Cosima?”_ The woman asks, over what I assume is a Skype call, or something similar.

                “Delphine’s here,” Cosima says. She looks _terrified_.

                _“Shite.”_

_“Fuck.”_

I want to laugh, hearing both expletives come through the speakers on Cosima’s computer, but I bite my lip against it. I set down everything I’m holding and take a cautious step toward my _subject_ who has become my _friend_. When she doesn’t stop me, doesn’t move at all in her seat, I walk slowly to her side. I lean over, glancing between her and the faces on the screen, holding my breath. The woman _is_ one of the other clones. The man is unfamiliar, but I have accepted the fact by now that there is _so much_ I do not know about what’s going on, so that’s not surprising.

                “Bonjour,” I offer, waving into the webcam.

                Cosima starts to laugh. She laughs and buries her face in her hands.

                Mine instinctively go to her shoulders. “Cosima,” I start, but that’s all I’m allowed.

                “Dr. _Cormier_ ,” she bites out, raising her head again. Her eyes are dark and angry, but I can see that she’s frightened, too.

                I back off, standing next to her and swallowing harshly.

                _“We’re gonna go,”_ the man says, both Brits looking very uncomfortable on their end of the call. _“Touch base with us later_?”

                Cosima looks away from me and her face softens, “I will. Bye guys.” She waves as they terminate the connection. “So now what?” She asks me, her eyes closed and her voice dropping low.

                I take a deep breath, a _huge_ breath, and let it out slowly. “I – I don’t know. I apologize?” I want to hug her, hold her, I want to do _anything_ to take away the pained look on her face.

                She almost smiles, I think. Her eyes are still closed and she’s curled in her chair, curled _away_ from me. It’s wrong. I don’t want her to pull away. That is the _last_ thing I want to happen, now.

                “How much of that did you hear?” She asks me, her voice nearly breaking. I think she’s going to cry.

                “Enough to know you’re self-aware,” I tell her, reaching out for her again and _hoping_ with everything in me that she doesn’t tell me to leave, or not to touch her, even. “You know I’m your monitor. You know my real surname, and that I work for the DYAD.” _Good grief, it feels so good to finally get it out in the open_.

                Cosima nods slowly, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. “Did you hear what Felix said?”

                I nod, feeling my neck go hot and red. “I already knew that much, Cosima.” I hope that particular truth lands gently.

                She winces and I want to _cry_. _This is all so messed up. This is so unfair. If Aldous is working to keep them safe, why is she so scared? What’s really going on here?_

                In that moment, I make my decision. I admit I’ve made it, more like. Obviously there is so much to all this I _don’t_ know, but if there’s a side to choose, _of course_ I choose her. Of course I do. She’s my _friend_.

                “Where do you want to start?” I ask, rubbing her shoulder, “Do you want me to tell you whatever I can think of that might be helpful, or do you want to ask questions and I’ll answer?”

                Cosima turns towards me, now, giving me her serious look. “We don’t trust Leekie. We don’t trust DYAD. Can we trust _you_ , Delphine? Can – _can I trust you_?”

                She is _crying_ and my heart _breaks_. I feel tears rush to my own eyes and I drop to my knees, grabbing her hands tightly in mine. “ _Yes_. Yes, Cosima. You can trust me. I’ll tell you everything, anything I can think of, whatever you want to know – if I know it, you will, too. _Anything_.” I’m pleading, literally _begging_ on my knees, for her approval. For her _trust_. I barely recognize myself, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive, before I knew her.  “You are the _best_ friend I have ever had. You are the most _extraordinary_ person I have _ever_ met, Cosima. _I’m on your side_ , whatever that means, whatever I have to do, I’ll do it.”

                Cosima watches me through her tears, examines _me_ and the wetness collecting in my eyes. She watches me for minutes. My knees begin to ache. My hands are sweaty.

                I wait, barely breathing, until _finally_ she nods, breaking our staring contest. I can only hope that whatever she saw in my eyes was _enough_.

                “Okay, I believe you,” Cosima whispers, squeezing my hands.

                I sag with relief, dropping my head against our hands, in her lap, muttering in French how _grateful_ I am. I look back up at her, smiling faintly.

                She returns it, just a tiny bit, but it is enough to send my heart _soaring_.

                “What’s in the bags?” She asks, gesturing with her chin, since her hands are occupied by mine. Her hands feel so _right_ in mine. I don’t know how to explain it.

                “Truffles and wine. I ended my TA session early. I – I wanted to surprise you,” I smile wider, sniffling for a moment, trying to compose myself.

                Cosima laughs, standing and pulling me to my feet, our hands still intertwined. “Let’s get _drunk_ and you,” she frees one hand to poke me in the chest (right where my heart is, actually), “tell me _everything_ you know.”

                I don’t think about the fallout, about _Aldous’ temper_ , until much later, and by the time I do, I can’t bring myself to care.

 

-

 

                I cannot sleep at my apartment, anymore. I cannot sleep in my own bed. I never bring Cosima here, because I am not foolish enough to think I am not under surveillance. It must be a very boring job, since I am barely here. Cosima is talking to Sarah, Alison, and Felix tonight. They are wary of me, of course, so I am here. Alone. It’s early, but I am caught up on my work, and watching TV without Cosima is _boring_ , so I try to sleep. I don’t know why I bother. I can’t sleep without her, anymore. I can’t sleep without her fidgeting next to me. She is _never_ still for long, but without her kicking me in the middle of the night, I am cold. Everything is _too quiet_ , without the sound of her breathing in the dark.

                She has been coughing, lately, in her sleep. I told her to slow down with the smoking, that she is damaging her lungs. She just laughed at me and threw my pack of cigarettes at my head. I know I am a hypocrite. I’m used to it. I am doing an absolutely _terrible_ job of monitoring her. I am starting to fear that Aldous will catch on, that he will reassign me and send someone new to watch her. I am afraid he already has, sent someone else, and I told Cosima this. I’ve told her _everything_. As it turns out, Cosima and her _sisters_ knew much more than I did. I had no _idea_ about Helena, about how they are _caught in the crossfire_ between the Neolutionists, the DYAD, and the Proletheans. It is unconscionable, what they did to Helena.

                I _am_ a hypocrite, because I _am_ a Neolutionist. I am a DYAD scientist. I work for the _enemy_. One of them, anyway. Part of me wants to quit, but Cosima talked me out of it. I am more useful as a double agent than anything else, except as a friend. I hope. I do not think I am a very _good_ double agent, but I hope I am a good friend. Cosima and I are _so close_ now, closer than we possibly could have been before we put everything out in the open. I haven’t given Aldous any useful information in _weeks_ and, now, anything I tell him with be calculated. Cosima will set the terms of disclosure and I will do what I can to help. I am their _inside man_ , so to speak, but from here there is little I can do. If we were in Toronto, if I could go to the DYAD and work in the labs there, look through the files in person, I could be more helpful. I’m sure of it, but I can’t leave Cosima and I won’t ask her to jeopardize her position here at the university. She can’t just _leave_.

                I roll over onto my stomach and pull a pillow over my head, groaning into the mattress. I’m not even _tired_. Just bored. It’s late, now. I have been tossing and turning for hours, unable to sleep without my dear friend next to me. _Surely she’s done talking by now_ , I think, rationalizing my inability to stay away. I roll back over, stretching and sitting up. I collect my bag and I am out the door before I can talk myself out of it. I just want to see her, and I want to _sleep_ , and I need Cosima for that, now. It is strange, isn’t it? I think it is.

                When I get to Cosima’s apartment, the door is locked. _Locked_. It’s _never_ locked. I call for her, but there is no reply. There’s no light coming from under the door, but Cosima isn’t such a heavy sleeper. I try calling her, but she doesn’t answer. I don’t hear anything from inside, but that could just mean her phone is on vibrate. I bite my lip, torn, but I dig into my bag. I have a key. I’ve _always_ had a key. I just never needed to use it before.

                I creep inside, hesitating before I turn on a light. I look around, and I want to – to – I don’t know. I want to do _something_. Something loud and angry and hurt. _She’s gone_ , I think, trying to comprehend. Cosima _isn’t_ _here_. Her bed is made, the dishes are put away, and her laptop is missing. Her red coat is missing. Dread settles in my stomach. I check her bedroom and see that a suitcase’s worth of clothes are gone, too. I am having trouble breathing. Wildly, I turn and run to her bookcase. _Her notes aren’t here._ Cosima’s notes, the list of names, all the information she has about herself and her sisters. Gone. Missing. _She took it all with her_. Cosima’s run off in the middle of the night, and she’s left me behind. I know where she’s gone, obviously, but she _didn’t tell me_. I thought she _trusted_ me. I realize I am crying. I realize I’ve fallen to the floor, my back against the divider between her work space and her bedroom. I feel _betrayed_.

                _I am a hypocrite_ , I think as I bring my phone to my ear.

                “She’s self-aware, Aldous. She’s on her way to Toronto. Check the bus depot.” I hang up before he can say anything. I hang up before he can hear how _upset_ I am. My stomach churns with anger and fear and _guilt_. She _doesn’t_ trust me. And she shouldn’t. I am _not_ a saint, I told her that. I guess she believed me.

 

-

 

                Aldous sends me after her. He gives me an address and screams about my _incompetence_ through the phone. I am not looking forward to seeing him. He sends me to Felix’s loft to talk _sense_ into Cosima and Sarah, and Alison, as if they would _ever_ trust him. As if they _trust me_. Cosima doesn’t trust me. The truth sticks in my chest, in my lungs and my heart, with an awful dull ache. I thought we were _friends_. I thought she _cared for me_. I thought so, but I am a fool. How could she trust me when I was spying on her? How could she trust me when she _knew_ I was her monitor? How? I am a _fool_.

                The bus ride gives me plenty of time to think. I think about what I imagined my career to be, after this. I think about home, about France, about Cosima meeting me in Paris. _That will never happen, you imbecile. She left you behind, stupid._ Cosima could have _told_ me. I would have gone with her. I would have made excuses to Aldous. Or I would have told him. Whatever Cosima wanted me to do. I _am_ on her side. I thought she _believed_ me.

                _I only gave him the names so he would not reassign me, Cosima_ , I think, wishing I had told her. I should have told her. Maybe then she wouldn’t have run. _I can’t protect you, I can’t help, if he assigns a new monitor_.

                I think about all the nights we’ve spent together, talking and drinking and smoking. I think about falling asleep with Cosima next to me. I have never been a sentimental person, before. I have never stared out the window and daydreamed about someone, before Cosima. That is exactly what I am doing as the bus rolls closer to the border. Closer to Toronto. Closer to the DYAD and to Cosima and her sisters.

                 I found it strange, the first time she told me they call each other that. _Sisters_. It reminds me, smacks me in the face like an angry lover, that they are _more_ than an experiment. I know Cosima is, of course she is, but they _all are_. They are her _family_ and I have stood by and let them be in danger. I have tried to remain on _both_ sides. That was a mistake, a terrible mistake, and I don’t _know_ if I’ll get a chance to fix it.

                It makes me cry, as softly as I can, as the bus enters Canadian territory. I hope no one notices. I took an overnight ride, and as the sun comes up I realize how far I’ve fallen. I realize _why_ it hurt so much to be left behind. Cosima is the _best friend_ I have ever had. She is the _most_ _important_ person in my life. I’ve spent all my time, these past few months, _with her_ and otherwise _thinking about her_. It stopped being about _clones_ and _monitoring_ and all of that _so long ago_. How did I not notice? How did I not _know_?

                Cosima knows, I’m sure of it. Maybe she was waiting for me to realize. For _me_ to come to my senses. I have spent nearly every night for _months_ sleeping in her bed. Sleeping next to her, holding her, waking up to watch the sunlight on her face. We’ve shared _countless_ bottles of wine, we’ve watched movies and TV shows, and talked about _everything_ that people talk about. I have been _so stupid_. So _foolish_.

                _Mon dieu_ , _I sat there and felt bad for her! I felt bad, watching her look away from me and stifle her feelings, her attraction. How did she put up with it all?_

                I _love_ her.

                _I am in love_ , I think, staring out the window as the bus slows to a stop. I stand from my seat, hurrying out onto the pavement with my bags. Around me, people move along and the city beings to wake up. It occurs to me, randomly, that saints are revered not because they were _perfect_ , or even _good_ , but because they put their pasts behind them when shown the light of god. Or when an angel interceded and showed them a _better_ _way._ And then they went on to do _great things_. Perhaps I can, too.

                I hail a taxi and give the driver Felix’s address. I try to think about what to say, how to _tell her_. I try not to think about the bloody tissue I noticed in her apartment last week. I try not to think about Cosima refusing me. I try not to think about Cosima _rejecting_ me. I try to believe that it is not too late to fix this. I do not think about my career, anymore, or about the promises of _self-directed evolution_. It doesn’t _matter_. I have found another calling. _Une nouvelle raison d'être_.

                _I will be a saint after all_ , I think, standing outside as the cab drives away. _I have been so incredibly dense, mon amie, but you have shown me the way in this brave new world. I will not disappoint you again, mon ange._ I can only hope that Cosima will prove to be an angel of mercy rather than of vengeance.

                Felix slides open the door when I knock. He does _not_ look pleased to see me.

                “Delphine’s here,” he calls over his shoulder to her, to my Cosima. “She’s got _baggage_.”


End file.
